whammy

One of my greatest joys as a child was visiting my grandparent's house. It was not a house filled with many rules. The only ones in place mostly had to do with food. We couldn't freely dip into my grandfather's beloved Twinkies, hot dogs, or liver worst; permission must first be sought. The other rule was that we definitely were not allowed to touch the thermostat, although we didn't know about that rule until my Uncle John, the youngest of my dad's eleven siblings, dared to touch the heat one day and chaos ensued.

I guess my grandfather was highly attuned to temperature settings and sensed that something was amiss. He went and checked the thermostat and when his suspicions were confirmed he started carrying on in a manner that was somewhat amusing. My grandfather wasn't prone to speaking, let alone yelling, and he wasn't even prone to moving out of his chair, so to see him running through the hall, flailing his arms and opening his mouth to scream was too much for my ten year old self to comprehend. My siblings and I ran upstairs, caught between nervous laughter and my Uncle John, who was trying quickly to remove himself from the scene.

At some point the crisis was diffused and we went back to doing things like making prank phone calls. My grandparent's house was a hotbed of prank phone call making. I think the fact that my grandfather was always reading and my grandmother was always working on puzzles meant we could get away with this for several minutes at a time without anyone becoming suspicious. When we were home in our tiny apartment, with a mother who had an uncanny knack for overhearing everything, we never even bothered trying.

My children started asking me questions about my grandparents yesterday, which started me down this path of reminiscing. One of my happiest memories is something I think about quite a bit, specifically every year when October rolls around.

The particulars are fuzzy, but it was fall, I was probably not more than ten or eleven and there was a baseball game on t.v. It was an important game, probably a play-off series, and the Yankees, who my brothers loved, and some other team, maybe the Red Sox, who my brothers hated, were playing. It may not have been the Red Sox, but my disdain for them makes telling this story more enjoyable.

Honestly, it doesn't matter that much who was playing. What matters is that my grandfather, who never watched sports, who never engaged anyone in conversation, who never got excited over anything other than people screwing with thermostat settings, started watching the game. The game grew more interesting and my grandfather moved up to the edge of his chair, which was quite shocking, and then he got excited and started pointing and wiggling his fingers at the t.v. and yelling out "WHAMMY!" whenever the pitcher threw the ball, and just like magic, each time he yelled that, a strike was called.

At first I think we may have thought he was losing his mind. A man doesn't go from never speaking to yelling out whammy without people thinking something is wrong, but the more he did it, the more we screamed and encouraged him to keep going and he did, right on through to the end of the game, which the Yankees won. Even now, as a forty one year old woman who should know better, I believe the reason the Yankees won that game was due solely to my grandfather's special powers.

If not for that small incident many years ago I may simply remember my grandfather as someone who never wore anything other than a black suit(I think he even wore it while he was sleeping) and someone who was obsessed with the air temperature of the house. I guess that's not a horrible way to remember someone, but telling my kids those things wouldn't have captured their attention the way the baseball story did. (Although a man who never,ever wears anything but a black suit, even on the weekends, even on vacation, even in the heat of muggy summers, is suddenly becoming more interesting for me to think about.)

update - After I wrote this my dad emailed me and let me know it was the Kansas City Royals, not the Red Sox, who the Yankees beat. I knew either my brothers or my dad would remember this seemingly minor detail -minor only to women. Julie, I hope this makes you feel a little better.

hopes

In light of my previous post, in which I admitted I busied myself last year by getting into a fight with a fourteen year old girl, and leaving and then returning to the scene of a fender bender, it appears I may be ripe for some resolutions, but I'm not going to go that route because history has shown that resolutions don't work. Plus, to resolve to do something sounds difficult and implies a certain amount of hard work is involved. Instead I am going to have some New Year's hopes. The word hope is much sweeter sounding than resolve. If you hope for something you merely have to sit back and wait for it to happen and it will.

Here are some of my New Year's hopes. I hope to get back into shape. I hope to become more organized. I hope to think before speaking. I hope to keep my house clean on a regular basis. I hope to not lay in the sun, something I can barely resist doing when the weather turns warm, even though I know it is giving me wrinkles and moles and my doctor told me to stop doing it. I hope to take my contacts out every night before going to bed, and to remove my makeup at that time. I hope to stop speaking in excessively loud tones to my children, although that one went out the window already when one of my kids lolly gagged while getting ready this morning.

I do have some deeper hopes, but I feel weird putting them on here because they involve my faith and I find it increasingly more difficult to talk about my faith. I want to guard it with everything I have. I don't know what I am guarding it from - probably from neighbors who are trying to convince me my faith is not true. Nothing drives me further into my faith than when people do this, so I guess I am thankful for the recent annoyance. I'm pretty quiet about my beliefs and expect people to behave in kind. I'm surprised when that doesn't happen.

I hope to send a letter to David Sedaris begging him to come to central Florida for a speaking engagement. I guess our area is not deemed worthy of his presence, but I think I may be able to woo him with some of my lofty praise. I'm pretty charming when needed. Last week I was at the store and a friend who I haven't spoken to in some time was behind me at the deli. I'm not quite sure what happened to the friendship - most likely a lack of effort on my part. Things kind of just fizzled out and I could tell when I saw her that she was going to look down or pretend to get a phone call so as to avoid any discomfort, but I turned around and said " HI So and So, ( I called her by her name as I find this helps people feel better), how have you been?" And all was well again, due to my dazzling and irresistible personality. Right now you should be envisioning me smiling (with sparklingly teeth, of course) and the "ding" sound should be going off in your head. Please hope along with me that David Sedaris will come here.

I hope more people will leave comments on here. It makes writing more fun knowing people are reading. Terri and Julie, you are much appreciated!

2010 - a quick wrap up of some things I did,said, thought

Got in a fight with a 14 year old girl

Got in a fight with 14 year old girl's mother

Berated myself for being a hot head - spent a good portion of the year working on this. I made great strides, trust me, I did.

Cracked my front bumper on the tire of another car and left the scene in a panic ( I did a similar thing in the winter of '09 with the back bumper, except for that involved a mailbox. Oh, and children who did not belong to me were in the car -oops!)

Went back to the scene and waited for the driver of the other car (which was not damaged) to come out of store. Driver didn't care and didn't even feel bad for parking like a jerk, which is the whole reason I cracked my bumper in the first place (nothing is ever my fault, obviously) - left the scene in a furious rage but didn't yell at anyone

Promised Greg I would stop hitting things with my car and leaving the scene.

Made it through the rest of the year without hitting anything. I feel I may be due.

Lost and gained the same five pounds at least five or six time

Did not lose all of my baby weight

Laid in bed for several hours (over the course of 12 months) and wondered why God was punishing me by keeping me fat.

Painted my kitchen cabinets, but only once this year, which is an improvement over past years.

Rearranged my living room at least eight times - and after each time told Greg, "that's it, I finally like it, no really."

Read a lot. Some good, some bad. Highlight - rereading Pride and Prejudice after not reading it since I was pregnant with Jane. Lowlight - reading a dreadful book called How to Change your Husband in which I realized the book was really about how everything bad that ever happened in the history of the world (and my life) is the fault of women (and me) and I was the one who needed to change. I'm not a big fan of trick titles.

Told Greg only twice that we should move. This is the least amount of time I have spent on this topic in years. Decided I like it here - I like it a lot

Volunteered at a local food storage facility that sends the food to local food pantries. We did this so that we could get free tickets to Disney. We almost used the tickets a few weeks ago but had last minute change of plans and never ended up going. When my kids complained about this I reminded them that this made us better people than all the other people who volunteered just for free tickets. An older child was quick to point out that this was the exact reason we volunteered in the first place. The important thing is we sorted boxes upon boxes of unhealthy food and learned that all that junk food that doesn't get eaten in stores goes to poor people which ended up making us sad. Realized that we should only volunteer at places that made us feel happy.

Spent countless hours in Starbucks talking with good friends and laughing until it hurt and suddenly understood why my mother used to spend so much time doing the same thing with her friends.

Enjoyed every last minute of my trip to NY and Philly. I'll leave Vermont out of that equation. Still scarred by the filth - and some other things.

You may not be able to tell after reading this particular post, but I have had a fabulous year. Here's to hoping 2011 is just as swell - for me and for you.

Thankful, thank you, thanksgiving, just all arounds thanks

As many of you may already know, Thanksgiving is this week. I love Thanksgiving and in honor of that holiday I would like to say what I am thankful for.

First off, I am thankful that I just convinced my son not to make me homemade body lotion. I have no idea what it was going to entail, but I have a sneaking suspicion I would have broken out into hives if forced to wear it.

Honestly though, what I am really thankful for is everything. Really, all of it - for the good, the bad, the regrettable, the messy, the humorous, the ugly, the beautiful, the bitter and the sweet. I know you find this hard to believe because my blog consists mostly of tales in which I complain and lament and make sarcastic remarks about people and events and places, and where I don't seem to take anything seriously, but this blog is a only tiny little morsel of my life. I use it as an escape and a therapy, in lieu of smoking crack or drinking large quantities of booze and what I say here should never be taken as a pure and complete representation of the kind of person I am, unless of course this blog has left you with the notion that I am incredible. Then by all means, go ahead and continue believing that. Truly though, I am thankful for everything and I hope I remember to say that at least once a day, but preferably a little more.

"If thank you is the only prayer you ever say, it will have been enough." 13th century mystic, Meister Eckhart -

WARNING - This post could be a waste of your time

There was a very interesting article in the New York Post last week. Honestly, all the articles in the New York Post are interesting, even the ones that are true. Anyway, a college professor somewhere out in the middle of the country conducted an experiment in which he ate nothing but things like chips and Twinkies and donuts for a full thirty days. He kept his calorie count to 1800 calories a day and lost twenty pounds. His good cholesterol improved, his bad went down, and he feels great. I don't think I really need to waste my time reading or researching anything more on the subject to persuade me that this diet regimen is tailor made for me.

I do think I need to print the article out and laminate it, so that I can pull it out when people start talking to me about health and nutrition. I get really bored when people discuss those things, so bored in fact that I usually become agitated, and the agitation leads to me wanting to locate the closest fast food restaurant and stuff my face with fatty foods and sugary beverages. Do you think this is a sign of immaturity?

It's not the topic of health that I find dull, it's the unsolicited relaying of it to me, as though I'm some sort of moron who can't find these things out on my own. I sound bitter, don't I? I know. I'm trying hard to work on this. The truth is, I am quite a pleasant person and hardly ever snap at anyone when I am annoyed with them (unless I can be absolutely sure of never seeing them again.) I usually just smile and nod my head and then call my trusted, loyal husband and tell him of my irritations. His sage advice is always the same - "Cut 'em outta your life, you don't need that nonsense." I don't follow this advice, of course, as it would lead to having no friends, but it is refreshing and makes me glad that I married a man and not a woman. Men are very to the point and direct. None of the nonsense of worrying and wondering about other's feelings and definitely no ruminating over whether people are mad at you. Just do what you have to do and move on.

Speaking of marrying men, I was talking to someone last week and you know how people sometimes say they married their best friend? Well, I've never said that. My best friend happens to be a woman named Sue and since neither one of us is a lesbian I could not, in good conscience, marry her. By the way, I have nothing against lesbians. They really don't bother me unless they hit on me, but I wouldn't get anymore annoyed with that than I would if a man hit on me (unless the man was Jon Hamm - yum, hamm - Jon Hamm!)

Relax, I'm joking and merely trying to amuse myself. I'm sure writing a post wherein I spend time trying to amuse myself by talking about how I lust after a certain man constitutes some sort of sin, but I'm covered there as I plan on going to Reconciliation over the weekend. By the way, I much prefer calling it Confession, but that is another topic for another post.

I guess the best friend thing is just a matter of semantics for me. My husband is my husband and my best friend is my best friend and I never thought much about it until the matter was brought up. I do think Greg deserves the title of best friend as he is the person who has most patiently endured living with me and all of my little irritations, plus he happens to know when I've had enough of something/somebody and always comes to my rescue just when I need it most. By rescue I mean he starts making jokes about the matter that no one else but me would find amusing. Isn't that is how you know someone is your best friend?

Now onto two very important matters, because frankly this post is starting to bore me, so I can only imagine what it is doing to my readers. Happy Birthday to my non-spousal best friend, Sue. And also, Happy 45th Anniversary to my parents, who never referred to one another as best friends, but who definitely continue to patiently endure each other.